Dreamwalk
by HonorH
Summary: When a demon lord attacks people in their dreams, Angel and Cordelia must be joined with blood, bound in sleep, and guided by friend and foe in the pathways of dreams to defeat him.
1. Wesley

Disclaimer: All characters from "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel" belong to His Jossness and Mutant Enemy. The story, however, is mine; do not borrow without permission.

Thanks, as always, to Tanja for the advice and encouragement.

****

Dreamwalk

By

[HonorH][1]

Chapter 1: Wesley

Night fell over Los Angeles, California.

For every person sleeping in this city this night, another was awake. For those awake, the city's pace never slackened—the city roiled by night just as it did by day. Those who slept gained some measure of peace, a respite from the maddening pace.

Most of the time.

Anita Martinez was one of those who slept. She had a comfortable day job at the city planner's office, where she was slowly climbing the ladder upward. The pay kept her in her apartment and good clothes, she liked her coworkers, loved her boyfriend, got along great with her roommate, and was overall satisfied with her life. Very seldom was her sleep disturbed by nightmares.

Until recently, that was. It seemed to her lately that every time she fell asleep, her dreams would be haunted by dread—as if a malevolent presence were following her. She had become irritable during the daytime, too, as she'd been sleeping less and less to avoid the dreams. As she was normally a very even-tempered person, it worried her. More than once lately, she'd considered finding a psychologist to see if she could dig up from her subconscious whatever was disturbing her sleep.

This night, she found herself in yet another fear-haunted dreamscape. She was at her parents' house, and all her family was there. It was a scene of peace.

Nonetheless, the fear followed her. It was almost a tangible thing. No one else seemed to notice it—her brothers, her parents, her sister, her cousin Luisa, no one. As she wandered the house, trying to escape the sinister presence, her family continued about their business, unconcerned.

She climbed the stairs. At the top, there was a door she'd never noticed in her parents' house before. She opened it, glancing over her shoulder toward the presence she felt. As usual, she saw nothing. She stepped through the doorway and back into her own apartment.

The sense of dread had only grown. Now she wandered through the rooms of her apartment, trying to find the source of her fear. Nothing in the living room, nothing in the kitchen, nothing in her study, nothing in the bathroom—that left only one door left. She opened the door to her bedroom.

Inside, it was dark. She tried the light only to find it didn't work. She found she could see, even in the dark, and looked into the room.

A figure lay on the bed. It was herself. Sitting by the bedside was her boyfriend, Sam.

"Sam?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"Can't help you, baby," he said. "You should've figured this one out on your own."

She shook her head, feeling panicky. "But what is it?"

Sam looked at her. "Don't you know? Look behind you."

Anita turned slowly and looked. Then she screamed.

Across town, another young woman woke screaming, too.

***

"Cordelia!"

Pain hammered through Cordelia Chase's head. Flashes of light, moving figures, locations, voices, all in a confused jumble, assaulted her mind. She gasped in pain, trying to hold onto the only solid thing she had: a pair of cold hands, gripping her shoulders.

Finally, the vision released her. She opened her eyes and found herself looking into Angel's face. She realized she was sitting up in bed, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed in sweatpants, his upper body bare, holding onto her shoulders with worry in his eyes. There was some confusion in her mind as to what he was doing there.

"Are you all right?" Angel asked softly. "I heard you scream from the living room."

Memory flooded back. Angel's apartment had been blown to Kingdom Come, and he was staying with her temporarily.

Cordelia took a deep breath, trying to center herself. "Yeah. Ow. I never had one of those things wake me before."

Angel let her shoulders go, but didn't get up. "What was it?"

"Um, I'm not sure." She closed her eyes again, trying to make sense of the vision. "It was really weird—I thought it was a dream of having a vision at first. That's what it felt like. Am I awake?"

A smile crossed Angel's face. "As far as I can tell."

"Good," she said. "There was a name—Anita Martinez. I also saw Providence Hospital. I don't know if she works there or is a patient, but that's where she is, or will be."

"Then that's where I'll be." Angel started to get up, but was stopped at Cordelia grabbed his arm with one hand.

"There was something else, too," she told him. "There was a presence. I'm not sure what it was, but Angel—it scared me. I couldn't see what it was."

Angel nodded. "I'll be careful. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

***

Providence Hospital was across town from Cordelia's apartment, and the quickest route had been cut off by construction. Angel arrived roughly a half-hour after leaving Cordelia's apartment. He hated these kinds of calls. Not knowing what he was going to have to do while going into a situation normally meant an unacceptable amount of actual human contact was going to have to take place.

Fortunately, things tended to make themselves clear relatively quickly. Angel decided to drop by the ER first, figuring that if it was an emergency, well, that's where she'd be. As he entered, he heard the sound of screaming.

The pitch and tone of the screams was eerily familiar. Not someone in great pain or even terror—he knew those screams well enough—but someone in great torment of mind. The way Cordelia had been a month ago.

"Excuse me," said a polite voice. Angel automatically turned, only to find the hail hadn't been for him. It was instead for a small, red-haired woman who reminded the vampire vaguely of Willow. A doctor had been trying to get her attention. "Are you the one who brought Ms. Martinez in?"

"Yes, I'm her roommate, Ellen Howard. How is she?" asked the woman in a desperately worried voice.

The doctor sighed. "We need some information. Do you know if she was on any sort of drugs?"

Ellen shook her head. "No."

"Has she ever had one of these attacks before?"

"Not since I've known her—that's about three years."

"Do you know if she has a family history of mental problems?"

"Not that she's mentioned. I've met her parents—they seemed pretty stable to me."

"Has she been under any sort of undue stress lately?"

Ellen sighed. "Nothing she told me about—except for the dreams. She said she'd been having really intense nightmares lately, and then tonight she woke up screaming and wouldn't stop. Do you know what's wrong with her?"

The doctor was wearing one of those perfectly neutral expressions that boded ill. "We've got her under sedation and are running tests. Have you contacted her family?"

The redhead looked confused. "Wait—that's not her screaming?"

Angel turned away from the conversation. Quietly, he made his way deeper into the ER. In one room, he saw a slim, dark-haired woman. Quickly checking her chart, he found that she was indeed Anita Martinez. He looked at her face. The expression he found there was also all too familiar: blank, tormented catatonia.

Beyond the next curtain was the same story. Further in, doctors were restraining and attempting to sedate a blond woman.

The doors of the ER busted open, and a dark-haired man, screaming and thrashing, was wheeled in.

This didn't look good. Not good at all.

***

"So what do you think is happening?"

Cordelia asked the question as she served morning drinks to Angel and Wesley.

Angel gestured helplessly. "I don't know. All I know is that that ER was full of people in the same condition Cordelia was in a month ago, but none of them had been visibly marked by a demon."

"Well, the fact that you couldn't see a mark doesn't necessarily mean one wasn't there," Wesley pointed out. "It could have been on an area of their bodies covered by clothing, or one not visible to the human eye."

"I don't have human eyes." Angel took a sip of his blood. "The only clue I have is what Anita Martinez's roommate said about her having nightmares before the attack. Wesley, are there demons that attack via dreams?"

Wesley looked thoughtful. "Several, actually. It will take awhile to find exactly which one, and I've not much to go on. More information would be desirable."

"Know what I think?" asked Cordelia. Both men looked at her. "I think it's time I dropped a 'Thank you for taking care of me while I was having a psychotic episode' present by the hospital."

Angel smiled. "Good thinking."

***

Laura Butler, R.N., was having a profoundly bad day. Not that there were that many really good days at the Neuro-Psych ward—it just seemed like lately, the bad ones were getting even worse.

Thus, she was disproportionately glad to see a patient who had actually recovered coming her way. The girl—her name was something fancy, like Carissa or Corinna—who was coming toward her with a bright smile and a pastry box was a welcome sight. Cordelia, that was it. Laura was good with names, but with all the new cases, her brain was over-stressed.

"Hi!" greeted Cordelia perkily. "I wanted to say thanks to the nursing staff for taking care of me when I, you know, went all nutso, so I brought eclairs from The Flying Dutchman."

"Hi, Cordelia," returned Laura warmly. "It's good to see you looking so well, and believe me, those eclairs are incredibly welcome." She accepted the box from Cordelia.

Cordelia looked like she was going to say something else, but she was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Dr. Nancy Evans.

"You!" said the doctor, fixing Cordelia with her eyes. "You were in here what, a month ago? Arrived screaming, then lapsed into catatonia?"

"That would be me," acknowledged Cordelia.

Dr. Evans stared intently at the young woman. "But you came out of it a day later." The doctor bit her lip, thinking. "Tell me, before the episode, were you having bad dreams?"

"Dr. Evans! We've got another one," called an intern from down the hall.

Evans cursed softly. "Laura, find out if her case matches the others. I've gotta go." With that, Evans rushed off.

Cordelia watched her go, then turned back to Laura. "Boy, what's her saga?"

Laura sighed. "About a week ago, we started getting all these new cases that actually look a lot like yours—people coming in screaming, having psychotic episodes, with no drug use or history of mental problems. Were you having nightmares before the incident?"

Cordelia shook her head. "Nope. Had a few afterward, but none before. I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but psychotic episodes—big with the scary."

"Well, the common thread here is nightmares preceding the incidents." Laura glanced over to the room Cordelia had been put in during her stay. "At least, that we can tell. Most of the patients told their families or significant others they were having nightmares, and then they ended up here. It's scary." The nurse hugged herself. "I've started worrying about my dreams—like if I have a nightmare, that means I'll end up here."

Cordelia nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. "Are your patients okay? I mean, I know they're not okay okay, but has anyone . . ." She trailed off.

Laura knew exactly what she was asking. "We've had two deaths. One was an older man, and one was a teenage girl with heart problems. The stress on their hearts was too much. Worse, no one's spontaneously come out of it the way you did—they stop screaming, then go into catatonia or fugue states." She gave a short laugh. "Don't suppose a visit by that handsome brother of yours might bring some of them out of it?"

"Angel? Sorry, he's booked solid." Cordelia smiled at the nurse. "Here's hoping the eclairs help. In my experience, chocolate makes any problem easier to bear."

***

"So, that's what we know. People are dying from dreams." Cordelia shook her head. "Laura said that it wasn't just her hospital—it's happening all over. It's like an epidemic."

Angel looked even graver than usual. "An epidemic of dreams."

"Or a plague." Both Angel and Cordelia looked over at Wesley, who'd spoken. He was wearing an abstracted expression, and after a moment he got up, fetched the Scroll of Aberjian from the cupboard Cordelia kept it locked in, and spread it out. The ex-Watcher set about examining it while Angel and Cordelia traded a look. "Let's see—Sumerian, Greek, Latin, Fyarl, more Latin—where's the Hebrew? Ah." He pulled out a magnifying glass and focused on one corner of the Scroll, still muttering. "Beasts, pestilence, and here are the plagues. Aha!" Wesley straightened and began quoting. " 'And a plague of dreams shall strike the city, bringing madness and death.' Rough translation, of course."

"Sounds like what's happening out there," said Cordelia. "Does it say anything else that's useful? Like, step-by-step instructions for breaking the curse or whatever?"

"It's a section of the Scroll I hadn't gotten around to fully translating yet," Wesley admitted. "Hebrew gives me rather a headache. However, I think I can make at least some sense out of this as it is." He concentrated on the Scroll, pulled out a heavy volume, and examined both for a time. Finally, he seemed satisfied. " 'The Vampire-with-a-Soul and the Seeress must walk in the pathways of dreams, and they shall be joined with blood, bound in sleep, and guided by friend and foe to break the power of the demon lord.'"

"That's me," said Angel.

"Who's the Seeress?" asked Cordelia.

Wesley looked at her. "That would be you, Cordelia. You're mentioned in here several times."

Cordelia traded a look with Angel, then turned back to Wesley. "Okay, bonus question: what's a pathway of dreams?"

Wesley took off his glasses. "It's a different plane of consciousness than we usually occupy while awake. Simply put, whenever you dream, your consciousness moves to a different plane. To walk the pathway of dreams is to seek out that plane and move about it deliberately. Unfortunately, that pathway is also used by some malign forces."

"Yes," said Angel darkly. "It's also very dangerous. If you do battle on the dream plane, your mind can be ripped from your body."

"And this is what Angel and I have to do?" Cordelia shook her head. "Just another day on the job."

"No, Cordelia, you're not doing it," Angel stated. "I'll do it myself."

Cordelia looked at him. "Excuse me? I believe the Scroll says we do it together." She held up her hand to forestall Angel's next objection. "Look, Angel, I've been where those people filling the psycho wards are. It was by far the worst experience of my life, and when you look at my life, that's saying something. I'm gonna do my part."

A brief staring match commenced between Angel and Cordelia. It wasn't easy to stare down a vampire, but Cordelia could just manage it. Finally, Angel relented with a slight, proud smile. "All right, Wesley. What do we do?"

"I'm afraid the Scroll runs out of useful suggestions at this point," Wesley said apologetically. "Goes on about the raising of scourges and such. What I would imagine the correct course of action would be is to find some way of joining you two on the dream plane. Not an easy task, I'm afraid—most of the spells I know of are for one person only. That and, of course, figuring out exactly what demon lord we're dealing with."

"Research time." Cordelia reached for one of Angel's salvaged books. "Just like the old days in Sunnydale."

***

"Aha!"

Cordelia and Angel both looked over at Wesley. "What is it?" asked Angel.

Wesley held up a book triumphantly. "This has a spell in it which is specifically designed to enjoin two minds. We could use it, then a simple dreamwalking spell to send you both to the dream plane."

"Any nasty side effects?" asked Cordelia warily.

"No, none at all. Look here: it says, 'This spell will bind two minds completely and safely,'" Wesley flipped the page, " 'and once done, can never be undone.'" His face fell. "Oh."

"Scratch that," decided Cordelia, and she went back to her own book off Angel's look of amusement. "Hey, wait a minute." She looked back up. "I think I might have found our demon." She laid the book out, and Angel and Wesley read over her shoulders.

A shadowy figure was sketched on one page. Wesley read the description. " 'The demon lord Agragon uses the dream paths as a mode of attack. He feeds upon the fears and anxieties of dreamers and uses his own presence to heighten those fears. When he has a dreamer fully in his grasp, their minds become so dominated by their own terror that they become imprisoned in the poisoned dreams the demon lord feeds them. As he feeds in an area, he grows stronger and needs less time to dominate the minds of dreamers. It is considered that the only way to attack Agragon is via the pathways of dreams. One Warrior must be sent along with an Anchor, preferably with the Sight. The dream plane itself will provide all weapons needed to break the demon lord's power; no mortal weapon will suffice.'"

Angel breathed a sigh. "That's him, all right. And that's us. Now all we need to do is find out how to get there."

Research dominated the evening. A few semi-promising spells were considered, then dropped. One stated specifically that it wouldn't work for non-humans. Another would work for humans and non-humans, but would cause each to permanently pick up aspects of the other's personality. Angel and Cordelia looked at each other before simultaneously declaring it a "No." Yet another had to be incanted by an experienced witch.

As night fell, Cordelia retired to her bedroom. Angel decided to take a shower while Wesley continued to research.

***

Wesley stood watching his father's car drive away. It was an exciting time—his first year at St. Michael's. He looked forward to being here, or, more accurately, being away from home. School had always been good to him. He had a bright, ready mind, albeit locked in a short, skinny body, and he invariably earned high marks.

Not that that ever particularly pleased his father. Nothing Wesley did ever would, he was sure. Yet he kept trying.

As Wesley entered his residence, he thought he heard something behind him. Fear prickled his scalp. He turned, looked, then decided it was nothing. He turned to the door of his dormitory room.

It opened, and he was inside his apartment from the time he attended the Watchers' Academy. His old roommate, Robin Parks, was sitting on his bed playing with a yo-yo, as was his wont.

"Always too serious, Wes," said Robin.

"It's a serious business, Robin," Wesley argued. "We stand between our world and the forces of darkness."

Robin kept playing with his yo-yo. "One got by you."

"Yes," Wesley conceded, "but it shan't happen again."

His roommate shrugged. "Before the fall, and all that."

The presence was back again. This time, it was very definite in its malevolence. Wesley looked over his shoulder.

"Is something here?" he asked.

"How can you even ask that?" asked Rupert Giles. "There's always something. Haven't you learned anything while here?"

Wesley shrugged. "I suppose I haven't. Still, I'd like to know what it is. Perhaps Buffy could slay it."

Buffy snorted from a nearby table, for they were in the Sunnydale High School library. "You're on your own, Wesley. I've already quit." With that, she stood and walked out. A moment later, she poked her head back in. "By the way, that's a terrible suit for fighting the forces of darkness in."

A terrible suspicion was building in Wesley. He turned back to Giles. "Is Angel here?"

"You're the one who knows him," shot back Giles irritably. Then he, too, left.

The shadows in the library grew deeper. Somewhere in them, Wesley was sure the malevolent presence was hiding. He picked up a stake from the table and went in among the stacks. In no time at all, he was lost.

As he and the presence stalked each other, the seed of fear Wesley had been feeling began to grow. It wasn't just any fear; it was _the_ fear, the nameless dread that permeated all the worst experiences of Wesley's life.

"I'm a Watcher," he said aloud to himself. "It's only because I know that I can identify this. If not, I'd be as helpless as all the rest."

Two glittering golden eyes appeared in the darkness ahead. "You finally grow a pair, Wes?" mocked Angelus.

"You don't know me," Wesley told him. "He knows me, yes. You're not the whole him, though."

"Yeah, whatever." Angelus laughed, a terrible sound. "You really think you're going to take this thing on all by your lonesome, Wes? Please. Wesley Wimpy-Spice, stalking a demon with a stake. Hello! You're lost!"

And he was. Terribly so. He had no idea where he was coming from, where he was going, and the fear was growing more real and solid . . .

"Wesley!"

Something was shaking him, calling his name.

"Wesley! Are you in there?"

And he was back in Cordelia's apartment, sitting at the table with books spread around him. Angel's face was only inches from his. Wesley smelled the soap and shampoo rising off Angel's still-damp skin and hair and realized with great relief that he really was awake.

"Are you all right?" asked Angel.

"I—I think not," Wesley managed. "I believe I just had one of the nightmares."

Angel's mouth set in a grim line. "I'd say so. I could smell fear pouring off you in waves before I woke you up."

***

The next morning, Cordelia found both "her boys" still researching at the table. "Did you two stay up all night?" she asked sleepily.

Wesley removed his glasses, looking seriously frayed around the edges. "Well, technically, no."

Angel glanced up. "Wesley fell asleep and had one of the nightmares."

"The nightmares?" Cordelia blinked. "How do you know?"

"There was a presence," Wesley answered. "A definite presence. Malevolent, intelligent—I've no doubt it was a demon." He drank back the rest of the coffee in his mug.

"So, in other words, if Wesley falls asleep again . . ."

"He could find himself in the same condition as the people in the hospital," finished Angel. "If Agragon's gaining strength, he won't need as much time to trap people anymore."

"Sounds like our spell-quest just took a big step up in urgency," deduced Cordelia. "How about breakfast?"

Research—and keeping Wesley awake—continued throughout the day. No quick answers were forthcoming. A call to Giles in Sunnydale, followed by another to Willow, yielded only two strong warnings against Enjoinment spells as a means of ending nightmares. In frustration, Wesley went back to the Scroll.

"Prophecy!" he muttered angrily as he studied it. "Give some cryptic clues about things that are to happen, offer no help whatsoever, and record it all on a scroll just so some cosmic power can ultimately say 'I told you so.'"

"I hear you can get struck with lightning for saying things like that," said Cordelia, depositing another cup of coffee by the ex-Watcher's elbow.

"Not by lightning, but if old Professor Heathridge ever heard me talk like that . . ." Wesley sighed. "Something's trying to occur to me, but I may be too tired to see it. Cordelia, would you be so kind as to read what I've written here?" He handed her a piece of paper.

" 'And a plague of dreams shall strike the city in that year, bringing madness and death to its citizens,'" Cordelia read. " 'Therefore shall the Vampire-with-a-Soul and the Seeress walk the pathways of dreams, joined with blood, bound in sleep, and guided by friend and foe to break the power of the demon lord.' Okay, so what does that mean? By the way, I seriously don't like anything that mentions me and blood in the same sentence."

Wesley made an impatient sound. "That's what I'm trying to . . . blood!" With that word, he jumped up and dug through the books, finally pulling out a rather slim, but tall, volume. "Of course! The blood is the key! Now—where is that?"

Angel and Cordelia were watching Wesley's manic episode with a sort of stunned fascination. They traded a look and a shrug.

"There it is!" Wesley set the book down with a bang. "I should have seen it. I was so concerned about Angel being a vampire that I forgot he had a soul as well. What we need is a spell to create a bond between souls—don't worry, the effects are strictly temporary."

"So this is it?" asked Cordelia. "All this angst, and it's a simple little spell?"

"Fairly," Wesley agreed as Angel turned the book to read it. "I've got most of the ingredients at my place, and I'm sure I can pick up whatever else we need at the magic shop. Furthermore, we can combine this with a simple dreamwalking spell. I'll have to stay with you and make certain nothing goes wrong, of course, but . . . I think this is the answer."

Cordelia cocked an eyebrow. "Does it hurt?"

"I . . . shouldn't think so," Wesley hedged uneasily.

Angel broke in before Cordelia could pin Wesley down about that. "It has to be cast at sundown. Can you have everything ready by then?"

"I'm sure I can."

"And you've done this sort of thing before?" That was from Cordelia.

"Actually, I have." Wesley looked over at her. "Dreamwalking spells have been used to help Slayers find clarity and explore their Slayer dreams time out of mind. When you're to become a field Watcher, it's one of the first things you learn. I've even had one cast on me a few times. Once with my consent, even."

Angel straightened. "Let's do it, then."

***

Cordelia's bedroom had been transformed into Spell Central. Several varieties of candles were placed around the bed, spell-sand marked the floor, and the bed itself had been sprinkled with herbs.

"Good thing laundry day's coming up," Cordelia commented. She was wearing a set of Old Navy pajamas, her hair was unbound, and her face clean of makeup. Beside her, Angel stood in his white tank top and sweatpants. In spite of the relaxed trappings, however, he looked ready to do battle. Wesley was arranging a tray of spell paraphernalia.

"You will have from sundown until sunrise to accomplish what you need to," the ex-Watcher said. "I can break the spell if anything goes wrong, but obviously, I shan't know what's happening inside the dream plane. You must be prepared to see this through, no matter what you face."

Angel and Cordelia took this in and looked at each other seriously.

"You sure about this?" he asked her.

"Not even remotely. C'mon, let's go to bed."

Vampire and Seeress climbed onto the full-size bed, which was barely long enough for Angel. Angel sat on the right, Cordelia on the left. Wesley approached them and offered a silver goblet full of a dark green potion.

"Both of you need to drink from this. I apologize for the taste."

Cordelia took it first, smelled it, then took a quick swallow. Her nose wrinkled. "Ew! Tastes like . . . day-old coffee and cough syrup. Benadryl."

"Thanks," Angel remarked dryly as she passed the cup to him. He, too, took a drink.

Wesley took back the goblet, then handed Cordelia a vial of oil.

"Cordelia, you need to mark Angel's forehead, mouth, and chest with the oil."

Cordelia wet her thumb with it, then touched it to Angel's forehead, his cool lips, and then his chest, right over his still heart. The oil smelled of sandalwood.

"Angel, do the same for Cordelia."

She closed her eyes and felt Angel's cold thumb touch her forehead, lips, and finally her chest right above her pajama top. She was aware that Wesley had joined them on the bed, sitting so he had access to both of them. A warm hand that she knew to be Wesley's took her right hand. Then—

"Ow!" Something sharp had stabbed her palm. Cordelia opened her eyes to discover a drop of blood welling up.

"Sorry," apologized Wesley, who was holding a pocketknife. "Angel?"

Angel looked vaguely disapproving, but offered his left hand. Wesley used the same pocketknife to prick his palm. "Now, take each others' hands."

Cordelia looked at the blood pooling in her palm. "This won't turn me all 'grr!'?"

"It doesn't work that way, Cordelia," Angel assured her, offering his hand. His mouth quirked. "Promise I don't have any diseases."

Cordelia took his hand, and Wesley pulled out a scarlet cord. He wrapped it around their wrists, then tied it with three knots. "Now, both of you lie down."

They did so. Cordelia took one last look at Angel, who smiled reassuringly, then relaxed back into the bed, closing her eyes. Wesley was chanting in Latin now, and the candles were casting their scent around her, and it all seemed so soothing . . . she squeezed Angel's hand, and he squeezed back. Her thoughts began to scatter and drift.

Wesley's soft tenor continued, now in English. "Be ye joined with blood," and his finger gently touched both Cordelia's eyelids, marking them with oil, "bound in sleep," and he was moving over to the other side of the bed, where she knew he would also mark Angel's eyelids, "and guided by friend and foe in the pathways of dreams."

With that, his voice faded away, and sleep claimed Cordelia.

   [1]: mailto:ksheasley@yahoo.com



	2. From Oz to Sunnydale

Chapter 2: From Oz to Sunnydale

Wesley watched his best friends as they lay together on Cordelia's bed. As they fell asleep, Angel began to breathe reflexively. Then, as sleep deepened, Wesley heard Cordelia's breathing grow deeper and more regular as Angel's slowed, then ceased entirely.

The bedroom door opened, and a cup of hot coffee (cream and two sugars) floated over to Wesley.

"Thank you, Dennis," said the ex-Watcher. In the magic-heavy air, he could almost see the ghost standing there, looking worried. "It won't be long now. Once they've started dreaming . . ."

***

Someone was tugging Cordelia's hand. For a moment, she heard voices around her, old friends and rivals all talking at once. One voice cut through.

"Cordelia."

It was Angel, holding her right hand. "Are you here?" he asked.

She looked around. "I think so."

She didn't recognize where "here" was. It seemed like they were inside a perfectly enormous room whose walls she couldn't see very well. In front of them, and to the right a little, there was someone sitting in a chair. They walked toward whoever it was.

The woman was tall, slim, with dark hair and caramel-colored skin. Her eyes were closed, her face set in an expression of pain and fear, and she was utterly still. Cordelia recognized her at once.

"I saw her in my vision," the Seeress said. "Anita Martinez."

"Then we're in the right place," Angel concluded.

Cordelia shook her head. Knowledge she didn't know she had was manifesting in her mind. "No, not quite right. We've got to go someplace first. There's a place where this starts, and a place where it ends."

"So where do we start?" asked Angel.

"I find the beginning is usually a good place to start," answered a voice from behind them. It was a familiar voice, very gentle and dry. They turned to behold Oz.

"Oz," said Cordelia. "The total embodiment of all things Sunnydale."

"Exactly," acknowledged Oz.

"Oz." Angel stepped forward. "You're here, too?"

Oz shook his head. "Not here. I'm just your guide for this leg of the journey."

"Okay," Angel said. "Guide us."

"It starts right here," said Oz. And they were at the Bronze.

Cordelia was sitting at a table, holding court with the Cordettes. Suddenly, she spotted a man across the room, and promptly decided she had to have him. Tall, dark, gorgeous, older—obviously just her type. She started making her way toward him. Then she stopped.

"That's Angel," she murmured. "I just saw him for the first time."

"It's the beginning." Oz was standing beside her again. Angel spotted them and came over. He was wearing the same black pants, white shirt, and black jacket he'd been wearing the first time they met, and Cordelia was in her party dress. "You two would never have guessed where you would end up on this night."

"I didn't even notice her," admitted Angel.

Cordelia shrugged, not minding. "It's okay. You were just something to be had for me. So why the trip down memory lane?"

"Dreams speak in the language of memories," said Oz cryptically. "Come on. There's more to do here."

They left the Bronze and found themselves at Sunnydale High School. Students filled the halls, moving from class to class. Angel stopped by a sunny window with an expression of wonder. He was now wearing his typical dark clothing with long trenchcoat, and Cordelia was in figure-hugging blue jeans and a fashion top.

"Do you dream the sun?" he asked Cordelia.

"Mostly," she answered. "You don't?"

He shook his head. "Not after all this time."

Then, very softly, Cordelia heard singing. It was a child's voice, high and pretty, and the tune was almost familiar, but not quite. She couldn't hear the words.

Angel had gone very still. His face held an expression of pain, and his eyes were closed. "No," he said very softly.

Oz looked at him seriously. "Are you ready?"

"No," Angel repeated. "I can't face that. Not yet."

The werewolf nodded sagely. "I thought not. Time to go on."

Angel took one last look out the window, and they both continued on their way after Oz. It was a familiar trip to both of them.

The doors to the library opened, but it wasn't the same library they remembered. The room was cavernous now, doubled or tripled in size, and filled top to bottom with books. They both gaped at it.

"Giles would have an orgasm," Cordelia commented.

"Lot of knowledge here," Oz agreed. "You'll need some."

As if on cue, Giles, Xander, Willow, and Buffy all emerged from the stacks and gathered around a table.

"Where have you three been?" asked Giles.

"You should stay here," offered Buffy. "We've got lots of stuff here. Books, weapons, and plenty of evil to fight."

"Can't," said Angel. "Cordelia and I have a demon lord to face. Agragon."

"Oh, my." Giles removed his glasses in a familiar gesture. "Yes, I can see where that might take you away. What do you need?"

"What do you have?" asked Angel.

"Books and weapons, mostly," said Giles.

"We need both."

"Well . . ." Giles opened a book. "You should know that when you face the demon lord, you must be settled with all that is and has been. He will feed your uncertainties, your anxieties, your regrets. Let go of what has been."

"Thanks, Yoda," Cordelia said dryly.

Buffy walked over to the library cage, which she unlocked, and opened the weapons cabinet. She drew out a large battle-axe. "You should take this," she told Angel. "It's the best I can do, I think."

Quietly, the Slayer bore the axe over to Angel. He accepted it, tucking it into the holster under his trenchcoat.

"Thank you," he said.

Buffy looked him long in the face. "You're really leaving now, aren't you?" Her voice was sad, but accepting.

His face, too, grew sad. "I have to. But neither of us knows what will be."

She seemed less sad at that. "No. We don't." Buffy looked at Cordelia. "And you'll be with him?"

"To the end."

That reassurance seemed to satisfy Buffy, for she moved away, smiling. "Don't lose touch."

With that, the library was empty and back to its original size.

Oz moved in front of Angel and Cordelia, face pensive. "I've got a key for you. We all will."

"All our guides, you mean?" asked Angel.

"Yes." The werewolf gathered his thoughts, as was his wont. "My key is, it's all dreams in here. You can change most things. Remember that."

"Free your mind," Cordelia deduced.

"Something like that." Oz started toward the library doors. "Come on. One last event, and I'll be finished."

They walked out of the library and instantly into the night air. Cordelia shivered, walking ahead of Angel.

"Sunnydale night dreams," she said. "Never a good thing."

Suddenly, Angel grabbed her from behind and buried his fangs in her neck.

***

Wesley paced the room, making certain the candles stayed lit and watching over his sleeping friends. He'd noticed the rapid eye movement starting about ten minutes ago. They were on the dream plane. All there was now was the waiting.

And then, abruptly, Angel's face vamped out. At the same moment, Cordelia's body spasmed violently. Wesley jumped to the side of the bed, making certain not to disturb the spell-sand. Hastily, he lit the candle at the head of the bed, the one for warding off evil dreams.

"Hold on, you two," he muttered through his worry. "Please, hold on."

***

Cordelia cried out with pain as the fangs lanced into her. Angel's arms were locked around her as tight and unbreakable as metal bands.

"Oz!" she screamed.

The werewolf's calm voice drifted over. "It's dreams," he reminded her. "It's all dreams."

It's all dreams, she repeated to herself. I can change it. I can . . .

She was dizzy by now, hearing Angel gulping down her life's blood.

No. I can stop this. He won't kill me.

"Angel," she whispered. "Angel, we can change this. It doesn't have to be this way. You don't want it to be this way."

No response.

"Angel?" Whatever pain there had been was over. There was euphoria now, a strange and dangerous ecstasy. "Angel, it's not too late. Please, Angel. It's not too late. We can change this . . ."

And as abruptly as he'd seized her, Angel released her. She fell to the ground, gasping. There was a wound at her neck. Cordelia thought about it a moment, then decided it wasn't real. And it wasn't. She turned to look at Angel.

He was backing slowly away from her, horror in his eyes. There was blood on his mouth and hands. Cordelia stood swiftly, realizing that no damage had truly been done.

"I . . ." Angel gasped, shaking. "I killed you."

"No." Cordelia looked at him steadily. "No, we changed that. It's dreams, Angel. It's all dreams. I'm fine. See?" She exposed her neck to him.

He was still shaking, and the blood on his hands was still there. He shook his head. "But it happened."

"In a dream. A nightmare."

"Not mine."

Cordelia puzzled over that briefly. "Mine, then. Look, it's okay. Just get over it. We've got miles to go."

Angel seemed to steady, and he drew inward just for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the blood was gone. "It's dreams," he repeated.

"All dreams," Cordelia concurred. She offered him her right hand, which he took.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Water under the bridge," she dismissed. "Just keep your fangs to yourself from now on, okay?"

"You two finished?" It was Oz's voice, ultra-blasé.

Cordelia looked at Angel, who nodded. "We're done here."

"Good." Oz cocked his head, then nodded, as if what he saw met with his approval. "I'll be leaving now. Your next guide will be waiting."

"Thanks, Oz," said Angel.

"Who's our next guide?" wondered Cordelia.

Oz looked disapproving. "Personally, I find him atrocious."

And with that, he was gone.


	3. With Angelus Into Hell

Chapter 3: With Angelus into Hell

Wesley blew out the candle he'd lit to ward off evil dreams. It was to be used sparingly, for its effects could neutralize the usefulness of the dreamwalk. A few minutes earlier, Angel's face had melted back into his human countenance. He'd taken a few uneven breaths, then settled into deeper sleep. Cordelia, apparently unhurt by whatever had taken place, had done the same.

The ex-Watcher rubbed his eyes. He knew how important his vigil was. Should anything go wrong with the spell, he had to be aware of it and be ready to bring his friends out of it at a moment's notice. But he was tired, so tired, and even all the caffeine he'd been drinking was losing its effectiveness.

An indrawn breath from Angel signaled the start of a new REM cycle. They would be moving on now . . .

***

"So who does Oz think is 'atrocious'?" asked Cordelia.

Angel shook his head. "Not sure I want to guess."

"The Master?" Cordelia speculated. "The Mayor? Snyder?"

"Are you getting a sense of direction?" They were walking past the smoking rubble of Sunnydale High School.

Cordelia sighed and pointed toward the city limits. "Out there. You can only go so far in Sunnydale, you know."

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "I've heard that."

"Well, well, well," said a voice. "If it isn't the Dark Avenger and Batgirl."

Both Angel and Cordelia halted. They immediately knew who their new guide was, and they immediately dreaded this leg of their journey.

A figure came striding out of the darkness. It matched Angel in every way but for the bearing of his body and the fact that he was in vamp face.

"Angelus," they both said.

And Angelus it was, down to the leather pants. The embodiment of Angel's vampiric nature walked slowly over to them with an arrogant pace.

"What? Not happy to see me, little bro?" He smiled, showing his fangs. "And Cordelia—still hanging out with this loser, I see. Don't expect him to get more interesting. But hey, this should be fun." His face smoothed into his human visage, and he stood in front of Angel. "Just like a mirror, isn't it, little bro? Hey—I'm hot! Don't you think so, Cordy?"

"I like his face better," said Cordelia. "For one thing, it talks less."

Angelus clasped his hands over his heart. "You wound me, Cordelia. Be honest now—don't you want to screw him?"

"Pfft!" Cordelia made a brushing-off gesture. "As if! You came out the last time he got some; I'm not taking that risk."

There was a soft, cruel laugh from Angelus. "Cordy, Cordy, Cordy—do you honestly think that sleeping with you could give _any_ man perfect happiness?"

Angel's hands lashed out at that, grabbing Angelus by his leather coat lapels. "I've got an idea," Angel hissed. "Why don't you take us wherever you're supposed to take us, give us our key, and get lost?"

Angelus regarded him lazily. "Now, Angel—don't damage what you both need."

"Need you?" Angel laughed. "I'm sure we could find ourselves a better guide."

"It's not just the guide gig, _Angel_," said Angelus. "You two need me every single day. She does, in particular."

"Get over yourself," said Cordelia. "I need you like I need a bad dye job."

Angelus laughed again. "No, Cordy, you need me. You need to be able to separate me from Angel, or you wouldn't be able to be around him. You think of me as something different than what he is—doesn't she, little bro?"

"Stop calling me that," Angel ground out.

"But that's what you are, Angel," Angelus told him. "You came out of me more than you came out of Liam. And one day soon, both of you are going to realize just how close the two of us are."

He looked like he was going to say more, but just then, the sound of the child's voice singing her song drifted in again. The effect on Angel was immediate; he stiffened and looked in the direction the song was coming from. The effect on Angelus was even stronger. He vamped out.

"Can't she find something else to sing?" he burst out. "Every time I go to sleep, it's the same freakin' hymn. I'm sick to death of it!"

Angel shifted his glare to his alter ego, who he still held in his grip. "All right, Angelus. If you don't take me where you're supposed to, we're heading for her. Understand?"

Angelus broke his grip petulantly. "Fine. Come along, then." He whirled, leading them out of Sunnydale as Cordelia wondered what it was that had gotten Angelus so worked up. Another question was eating at her mind, too.

"What did you mean earlier? When you said we needed you, what did you mean?"

"Glad you asked!" Angelus gestured broadly as he continued to walk, taking them out of Sunnydale. "You're with this mealy-mouthed, sorry excuse for a vampire day in, day out. You have your visions and entrust him with your life. But Cordelia, if you were to think about the fact that you can't separate him from me, that I'm present every day, would you still put up with him? Or would you go running for the hills?" Angelus suddenly whirled, advancing on Cordelia. "He may walk like a man, talk like a man, even look like a man most of the time, but gorgeous—he's a vampire. Everything I am is still present in him. He's just got the soul holding him back."

"Yeah, I know this," Cordelia shot back. "I've seen it, remember?"

"But you're not getting it," Angelus said. "You've still got this idea that you can separate us, and that somehow, he's 'good' Angel. What would you say if I told you there's less of a dividing line than you could ever imagine?"

Angel suddenly cut in between the two of them. "You may be right, Angelus. But I control you."

"No, little bro—you use me," Angelus corrected. "There's a difference. And one day, you'll dip too far in. You'll use me, and you'll find that line between us disappearing until you won't be able to put me away again. And I gotta tell you, bro—I'm really looking forward to that. Gonna be fun!"

Angel lashed out again, striking Angelus and sending him flying. "Fine then, Angelus. I'll use you. Take us where we need to go, and give us our key—then leave."

Laughing, Angelus stood. "I like that. You're so cute when you get all dark. You want me to leave you? No problem! I'll leave you just about where I left you before . . ."

Suddenly, light whirled around them in a vortex. When it was gone, they were left in

"Hell." Angelus spread his arms wide. "Enjoy it, little bro. Oh, and your key—I like it. Your key is that both of you have to face your greatest fears and regrets before you get to Agragon, or he'll eat you for lunch. Can't avoid it. Hey, it looks like you two have been at it already!" With that, he reached out, running his fingers over Cordelia's neck before she could jump away. His fingers came away smeared with blood, which he greedily licked from them. "Mmm! That's good stuff. Nice work, little bro. But—didn't you forget something?"

Without any warning, he grabbed Cordelia around the back of her neck and kissed her almost violently on the forehead. Then he jumped back, laughing, as Angel lunged at him.

"Be seeing you both real soon," he said, walking away. "Oh, and just so you two aren't at a loss for a topic of conversation while you walk through Hell together—Angel, why don't you tell Cordelia how much you got off on that dream of biting her?" With one last wink at Cordelia, Angelus vanished.

"Personally, I find him atrocious," remarked Cordelia, scrubbing at her forehead.


	4. Through Hell and Spike

Chapter 4: Through Hell and Spike

In the bedroom, Angel and Cordelia lay motionless, she breathing deeply and regularly in Stage 4 sleep, he breathing not at all. A new REM cycle would be forthcoming, but for now, they rested. Around them, candles burned, sending their various sweet and pungent scents into the air. One of the candles sputtered.

And in a chair, Wesley nodded off. As the first, shallow stages of sleep set upon him, he felt a seductive call to just give in and dream. He was tired, so very tired, and it would be just so easy to slip away and . . .

A sudden, cold wind hit him in the face, and the coffee cup beside him rattled violently. Startled out of sleep, Wesley sat bolt upright.

The air around him was cold and smelled of damp earth. The mirror on the inside of Cordelia's bedroom door revealed the dim outline of Dennis Pearson.

"Thank you, Dennis," Wesley breathed. He shook the last of the sleep from his head, then realized one of the candles was about to go out. Hastily, he re-lit it. His hands were shaking. If he had given in to sleep . . . but he chose not to think about it. Instead, he watched his friends. They were a breathtaking pair. Cordelia's cheeks were flushed with sleep, her beauty undiminished. Angel, too, was beautiful—but cold. He looked carved from white marble, still and unliving.

The bedroom door opened, admitting another cup of coffee, black this time, borne by Wesley's silent, ghostly partner in this vigil. Wesley accepted it gratefully.

"They're resting now," he told Dennis, more to keep himself awake and focused than anything else. "Soon, they'll enter another stage of the dreamwalk. It's only when they're dreaming that the battle is joined. The fact that they've gone through two stages of REM already speaks well of their chances, I think. Although, to be honest, I've never quite done anything like this before."

Angel drew in a breath. Another dream began.

***

Hell wasn't at all what Cordelia had expected. No fire and brimstone, no red-clothed devils—no, Hell was empty. Empty and cavernous, all dim light and vanished hope. It was cold, too.

As for Angel—he was still and quiet, too quiet. Cordelia felt a shudder run through him.

"Doesn't seem too bad," she offered.

"No, not at first," he agreed. "That's one of the torments, the never knowing. You don't know what's going to happen to you, only that it will hurt." He gripped her hand tightly as they walked further in. "The memories are another torment. You remember with perfect clarity in here. It's like sensory deprivation: the low light, the cold, the silence. Nothing to distract you when your memories take hold of you. You can't fight them, either. Once you get started on a memory, you can't let go of it. You've got to follow it to the end. But they're not the worst thing."

Cordelia felt a shudder run through her own body. "So what's the worst thing? Just so I'll be prepared."

"The worst thing isn't the pain," he said. "That you expect. Even feel you deserve it, when the memories start crowding in. The worst thing . . . is the pleasure."

"Pleasure?" Cordelia looked at him incredulously. "In here?"

"Yes," he hissed. "You see those things you've done that you regret most, and you feel the pleasure you took in doing them. Again, and again, and again. No matter how many times you see yourself doing those horrible acts, you always feel the same. And you long for pain, for punishment, because you can't bear to know that awful pleasure for even a moment longer."

Cordelia puzzled about that only for a moment. As she did, a memory suddenly surfaced in her mind. Tricia Howell, a nice girl, a smart girl, with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, a bit too plump . . .

She had shown Cordelia up in class one day. Miss Mason's English class. They had been placed on opposite sides of a debate, and while Cordelia was certain she would win, Tricia had simply come better prepared. She showed a remarkable debating ability, too, and in the end, it was obvious who had won her case. And Cordelia had stewed over that, that this _nothing_ with no social standing had bettered her.

She stewed only for a moment, however, as the perfect revenge suggested itself to her in the other girl's deferential manner the moment the debate was over. Cordelia had congratulated her with feigned sincerity and even walked Tricia to her locker, talking about the debate. For the next week, Cordelia offered her nothing but overtures of friendship. How the girl had basked in the glow of the queen's approval!

So it hadn't been very hard for Cordelia to persuade her to come to a costume party at the Bronze. An animal theme—come dressed as your favorite animal. That evening, a girl dressed as a dog entered the doors of the teen club, only to realize she was the only one in costume. All the patrons had stared at her in varying states of amusement and derision, and her new "friend" Cordelia—well, the teen queen and her court had just laughed. And taken pictures.

The memory played itself out in perfect clarity, every sight, sound, smell, and emotion coming back. Cordelia felt the satisfaction of lording her power over others, the near-sexual rush of putting an upstart in her place. The Cordelia of then reveled in it; the Cordelia of now writhed in self-disgust.

As the memory faded, Cordelia realized with horror that it hadn't been hers alone; Angel had seen and felt it, too, as if it had been acted out in front of them. She wanted to retch.

But the hand around hers tightened, and as Cordelia looked at him through tears of regret, she saw only understanding in his eyes.

"She left Sunnydale High at the end of the year," Cordelia told him. "Guess she couldn't take being called the Dog Girl for another year. I kept that nickname alive." She drew in a shuddering breath. "You know, that may have been the worst thing I did. All she did was prepare better than me, and I screwed her over because of it."

"I know," Angel said softly. "Believe me, I know."

"Yeah, I know, too," another voice cut in, all Cockney and attitude. "Sucking the life out of friends and neighbors—good times, if you ask me. 'Course, I haven't got the soul problem you two blighters do."

It was Spike. Their new guide had arrived

Cordelia winced. "Can we skip this? Please?"

"Sorry, luv." Spike's white head was the first thing they saw coming at them through the gloom. "It's all part and parcel, you see. If you don't face these things here, you're gonna be facing Agragon with all these nasties knocking around in your heads. Can't afford that, just like me old mate Angelus said. 'Course, I wouldn't mind watchin' you two go down. Could be funny."

Angel just looked Spike up and down, profoundly unimpressed. He turned to Cordelia. "Come on, Cordelia. If we've got to do this, we might as well get it over with." The elder vampire turned an infinitely contemptuous gaze upon the younger. "Lead on, _William_."

Spike's jaw tightened at that. "Don't push me, you poof."

"Why not?" Angel laughed. "It's not like you could ever take me in a fair fight."

"Excuse me," Cordelia interjected before things could get even worse. "Could we cool it with the testosterone? Hell—bad enough already!"

Spike glared at them a moment more before finally wheeling and striding away, tossing a "Coming, then?" back over his shoulder. Angel and Cordelia followed.

The going forward with something to focus on had one good effect: the memories dredged up for both of them fell by the wayside. What memories Cordelia noticed were awful enough: Drusilla, insane and covered in blood as Angelus and Darla made love practically in her lap; Cordelia whispering the lies that drove Vivian Westwood, Sunnydale High's previous teen queen, out of town; nameless, faceless victims of Angelus' brutality; nameless, faceless teens kicked out of the way of Cordelia's rise to power in her school. Cordelia shuddered, imagining what she herself would have been like as a vampire.

"You'd have been a kick," commented Spike, as if he'd heard that thought. "Cruel, calculating, yet with that nice touch of class. Something Peaches here never had."

"Look who's talking," growled Angel, face set and determined.

"There but for the grace of not getting bit . . ." Cordelia trailed off as another memory rose either in the air in front of them or behind her eyelids; she couldn't make up her mind on that. For a moment, she thought it was Angel and Buffy making love. They were lying on the floor in front of a fire, bodies entwined . . . and Angel had his mouth pressed to the Slayer's neck, feeding urgently. "Oh. My."

"Fun!" chortled Spike.

Angel seemed to go even paler. "I never wanted her to know . . . I would never . . ."

Realization hit Cordelia. "This was when she made you feed to save your life, right?" Angel nodded marginally. "And you enjoyed it."

"I did." The words were so quiet Cordelia barely heard them. The memory changed, then, and Cordelia saw Angel biting . . . her. And two words he'd said suddenly made sense.

" 'Not mine.' When I said it was a nightmare, you said 'Not mine.'" Cordelia looked at him steadily. "Angelus wasn't just being a jerk, was he?"

"He's a vampire, sweets," Spike's voice cut in. "You can't know what it's like—sinking your teeth in, drinking down someone's life, feeling their passions . . . it's a touch of godhood."

Angel's eyes looked into hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You know what?" Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "I can deal. Question is, can you?"

He nodded fractionally. "I can."

They moved on, then. Spike looked disappointed. Soon, the cavernous walls began to close in on them, and the air became thicker and hotter.

"We're entering the bottleneck now, my friends," announced Spike. "Best be prepared for the worst, because baby—you're gonna get it." He grinned maliciously.

Cordelia fell to her knees, clutching her head and screaming. Her body twisted with the agony ripping through her mind—vision upon vision, the pain of the whole world savaging her.

***

His own pain Angel had been expecting. Cordelia's caught him by surprise. He dropped to his knees beside her, pulling her into his arms. She was screaming, thrashing against the curse that seemed to have overtaken her again. Angel realized what it was.

"It's a dream, Cordelia," he whispered into her ear. "Fight it. It's not real."

She screamed again, an ugly, ragged sound. Tears were running down her face.

"Listen to my voice, Cordelia," Angel commanded her. "Listen. You can change this, just like we changed me biting you. It's not real. It's dreams, it's all dreams. Fight it off. You're strong enough . . ." And he continued speaking into her ear, hoping his words were making it through.

***

Wesley sat on the edge of the bed, holding Cordelia's left hand to his heart and wiping away the tears that streamed down her face, which was contorted in agony. A harsh keening sound issued from her throat, and the hand that clutched Angel's was white at the knuckles. The ex-Watcher was in an agony of his own. If this went on much longer, he would break the spell.

"Cordelia, Cordelia," he murmured again and again.

***

"Cordelia, fight it, please," Angel begged her. This was too much.

Suddenly, her fists balled up, grabbing hold of his coat. "Nnnnnno!"

The word came out in a defiant cry. Angel felt her stiffen, then suddenly relax, breathing raggedly against his shoulder. A soft sob welled up from within her.

Angel wrapped his arms tighter around her. "It's all right, it's over," he murmured into her ear as she clung to him. One of his hands stroked her hair gently as he rocked her, knowing she wouldn't accept comfort for long, even from him.

The first sob was the only one that made its way out of her. She took a few breaths, then pulled back from Angel's embrace. "I-I'm all right."

Angel wiped a few stray tears from her face. "Cordelia—why didn't you tell us you were this afraid?"

She sniffled softly. "What good would it have done, except giving you another free pass on the Angst Express? Even before the whole Vocah thing, I saw how guilty you felt whenever I got a vision. It's not like they're your fault, you know."

"But they are," Angel argued. "If it hadn't been for me . . ."

"Duh! No," Cordelia interrupted. "Doyle started getting the visions when he let his people down, okay? He knew you could help, and you needed to help, and so he found you. Then he gave them to me when he was about to die." Cordelia looked Angel in the eyes. "It's out there, Angel, it's all out there, and you can help. See? I don't mind."

And she didn't. It was a revelation to the vampire, knowing Cordelia didn't blame him, that she accepted the visions for what they were—a way to help others. "But you're still afraid of what Vocah did."

She nodded softly. "It was like . . . I had this thing that was good and powerful, and he used it against me. He made it a weapon, and it wasn't supposed to be like that, you know? He hurt me with it, and he hurt you."

"Like a mental rape," Angel realized. Cordelia's eyes grew wide at his terminology, but she didn't disagree. Angel gently wiped the last of the tears from her face. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Cordelia."

"Hey, it's not your fault," she told him. She sniffled once more, back to herself. "Besides, you chopped off a lawyer's hand to unbind me, and that means a lot."

"How precious. I may heave." Seeress and vampire turned to give Spike a perfectly synchronized glare. The other vampire was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the tunnel wall. "Are you two through with whatever it is you're doing? Because I'm getting bored. Not to mention the sugar shock."

Angel got to his feet, helping Cordelia up as he did so. "Ready whenever you are, William," said Angel.

Spike fixed him with a level glare. "It's _Spike_."

"Actually, it's the dream aspect of Spike," Angel corrected, "and I'll call you whatever I want to." Being pushed around by his unruly childe wasn't high on Angel's list of priorities, especially considering what Cordelia had just gone through. "Now, do your job and get us out of here."

Spike gave a humorless chuckle. "Don't go getting all cocky, Angelus. You think your girl had it rough? This place has more for you than a few ugly memories. I'm gonna enjoy watching you squirm."

"Always with the posturing, Spike," Angel returned casually. "Didn't you ever learn . . ."

A white-hot pain shot through him, straight to his soul. Angel knew the sensation all too well—it was imprinted on his memory, along with making love to Buffy. Panicking, he turned and stumbled away, trying to put distance between himself and Cordelia.

"Angel!" She was beside him.

"Get away," he ground out. "Get as far away as you can, Cordelia."

"Angel, what's happening?"

"My soul . . ." He was slipping, falling inside.

Cordelia forced her way in front of him. "Angel, listen to me."

"No!" He pushed her away. "It won't be long now. Get away!"

"It's not real," Cordelia insisted. "It's no more real than my visions were back there. You can make it stop."

He was stumbling away again, nearly falling. Cordelia kept up with him. "Look, Angel, it can't be real. Been happy lately? Hello! We're in Hell! Snap out of it!"

The stripping sensation was still there. "How?"

"You decide. You just decide it's not real, and it isn't. Come on, Angel! Be decisive!"

Angel leaned up against the tunnel wall. It's not real, he told himself frantically. It's not happening. I'm not losing my soul.

I'm not.

The sensation faded away. Cautiously, Angel opened his eyes. Cordelia was standing in front of him, her face both worried and determined. One of her hands was pressed to his chest. "Still all there?"

He breathed out a long sigh. "Still all here."

"Well! That was amusing," said Spike jauntily. "Not as amusing as if you'd really lost your soul and ripped her throat out, but I'll take what I can get. Coming along then, my pets?"

Angel and Cordelia looked at him, then at each other. "Can't we just ditch him?" Cordelia asked.

"Don't I wish." Reluctantly, they followed Spike, who grinned wickedly.

"We're coming to the end of our little trek, friends," the platinum blond vampire announced. "However, two things need to happen before I can let you out. First, we need to take a look at what we've learned today. Can either of you tell me?" Neither Angel nor Cordelia could summon the energy for even a smart remark. "All right, then. The lesson is: neither of you would have made it through this alone. It's only together that you have the strength to face what is to come. You know—people who need people and all that rot. There's your key. Go into the final battle as the lone hero, Angel, and you might as well take a bath in holy water."

Angel winced at the thought. "All right. You said two things."

"The second thing is . . ." Spike trailed off, waiting, and a moment later, the child's voice came in singing again. This time, Cordelia was sure she recognized the tune. Angelus had called it a hymn, hadn't he? Was it something she'd heard in church one of the few times she'd ever been in one?

And, as usual, the song had a profound effect on Angel. He stopped abruptly, pain sharp in his face. Spike approached, looking at him steadily.

"You're going to have to face her, you know," he said. "Don't fool yourself, Angel. Something like that hanging around in your thoughts—you'd never make it close enough to Agragon to strike a blow."

"All right," Angel said faintly. "All right. I'll face her. I'm ready."

Spike made a dismissive sound. "Don't lie to me, either. Don't say you're ready just to get out of here. If you need another go 'round, take one, but don't go in unprepared."

Cordelia looked at Angel in confusion. "What is it? Who is she?"

Angel looked at the Seeress, stricken. "I killed her."

"Who?" No answer was forthcoming. "What made her different? A really nasty death? What? Talk to me!"

"No," Angel answered. "No, not a bad death, especially for me. She had . . . the only merciful death I've ever given anyone."

The voice continued singing. Cordelia could almost make out the words. She heard Angel start humming along. His eyes were closed now. His whole face was closed.

When he opened his eyes again, the change was palpable. "I'm ready," he said simply, and he was.

"Well. I do believe he is." Spike gave a nasty laugh. "Too bad I can't stick around for this next part. Ought to be painful. Off with you, now." He gestured at the tunnel ahead of him. "Time to go."

Warily, Angel and Cordelia walked in the direction he'd indicated. Suddenly, the floor seemed to drop out from under them, and they were falling, falling . . .

"Mind the step!" called Spike after them.

***

Angel hit ground hard. If he'd had breath, it would have been knocked from him. For a moment, all he could do was lay there, stunned, staring into the darkness. Where was Cordelia?

"Angel?" Her voice was coming from behind him, sounding strangely timid. He started to turn over, but was pre-empted by her voice. "Don't look now, but—what do we do about the whole no-clothes thing?"


	5. To the Past, Present, and Doyle

Chapter 5: To the Past, Present, and Doyle

Wesley paced.

He'd gone past sleepy some time ago. Now there was only focus. His brain had fixed itself completely upon his friends, and his emotions had shut down almost completely.

After Cordelia's episode, Angel had suddenly arched back, gasping with pain and panic, and his eyes had opened briefly. About that point, Wesley had prepared to break the spell. But Angel, too, had come through whatever it was. Wesley, exhausted beyond anything he'd ever known, simply shut down all extraneous brain function.

So Wesley continued to wait and watch. He glanced at the clock. Sunrise was only an hour away. Whatever was to happen had to happen soon.

Cordelia's eyes started to move behind her lids, and Angel drew in a breath. The dreamwalk continued.

***

It didn't take long for Angel and Cordelia to figure out they were at Angel's mansion in Sunnydale, exactly where he'd been dropped out of Hell before. And in the very same state of nudity.

The clothes problem was solved rather easily. Cordelia and Angel simply decided they were clothed, and they were. That, of course, led to Cordelia "deciding" upon five different outfits before settling on one. She even fussed with Angel's shirt before he finally stopped her with a burst of vampiric stubbornness.

"I'm just saying you could do with a little color," she argued.

Angel, however, was suddenly distracted by the realization that light was coming from another room. Cordelia took advantage of the moment to turn his shirt deep green before following him.

In the sitting room, the fire was burning. A chair sat in front of it, facing away from Angel and Cordelia.

"Who's there?" asked Angel.

"Someone who's been waiting awhile for you two to get here," a very familiar Irish brogue answered as the figure in the chair stood and presented himself.

"Doyle!" Cordelia cried, delighted, and ran forward to hug him. Even Angel smiled.

"Doyle. After our last two guides, you're a welcome sight."

The Irish half-demon seemed happy to be hugged by Cordelia. "Good to see you, too. Too bad I missed out on the nakedness, though."

Cordelia gave him a mock-severe look. "Hey, you and I are going to have to talk about that last kiss and passing off visions without certain people knowing."

"I'd love to," agreed Doyle, "but time's running out. There are things that have to be seen here. This is where it all comes back to, you know."

"Sunnydale?" asked Cordelia.

"No, sweetheart. The past. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," Angel answered.

"I know, Angel, but it's ladies first here." Doyle held out a hand to Cordelia. "Come on. You've got to go home."

Angel's mansion dissolved around them, and they were in Cordelia's grandmother's house.

"Cordy, where do you think you're going?" asked Arthur Chase, Cordelia's father.

"Away," she answered angrily, throwing clothes into a suitcase. "I'm going away, Daddy. I'm getting out of this stinking hellhole of a town, and nothing you can say or do will make me stay."

"Listen, Cordy," her father cajoled, "I know we've had some tough times, but that's no reason to . . ."

"Tough times?" she interrupted. "You don't know the half of it, Daddy. You never know anything that's going on with me. Took you two days to figure out I'd been impaled, and then it was only because the insurance company wanted you to fill out paperwork." She zipped up the suitcase so forcefully she nearly broke the zipper. "You were always too busy with your investments and your companies and your flavor-of-the-week girlfriends and, oh yeah, avoiding the IRS to so much as ask me how my day was. Here's your blanket answer, though, just in case you're interested: it sucked. They all sucked. There were varying degrees of suckiness, true, but suckiness was had by all." She turned and began to zip dresses into a garment bag. There weren't many of them.

"Cordelia, you can't leave," Arthur Chase declared. "Think of your mother."

"Why don't you think of my mother, Daddy?" Cordelia asked acidly. "It'll be a new experience for you. Hey, why don't you two try communicating? You haven't spoken since my birth, so you should have lots to talk about."

Her father's fist slammed down. "I will not be spoken to that way, young lady!"

Cordelia whirled, eyes flashing. "Oh, yes, you will. But don't worry, it won't last long. I'm outta here." She sealed the garment bag and tossed it over the suitcase. Then she set about taping up a large box sitting on the floor.

At that, Arthur Chase looked stunned. "Cordy," he said more softly. "Honey, listen. I know it's been bad, but I've got a new job, and soon, we'll be back on our feet again. Doug Martin's helping me put some money away into tax shelters. We'll have it all again soon. You don't have to leave, honey. You don't have to be out on your own. I'll be able to take care of you."

"No!" Cordelia shouted. "I will not be taken care of, do you hear me? I'm not relying on anyone but me ever again!" The doorbell rang. Cordelia's eyes remained locked on her father. "Get out of my way."

A moment or so later, Xander Harris walked into the tension-filled room. Cordelia quickly put on a smile. "Hi, Xander. Thanks for coming."

"No problem," the teen returned. "How can I help?"

Cordelia pointed at the box she'd just taped. "Get that out to my car, would you? It's the really ugly Subaru parked at the curb."

Xander hefted the box, and Cordelia grabbed the suitcase and garment bag. She made for the door, then stopped, turned back around, and picked up her purse from her stripped bed.

"Cordelia," her father pleaded, defeat in his voice.

"I've already gone, Daddy," she said, stone-cold.

Xander reappeared in the doorway. "Anything else?"

"Just my computer box," Cordelia told him. Xander grabbed it and followed her out the door to her car.

As he was setting the box into the back seat of the battered Subaru, Xander asked, "You sure about this? I mean, L.A.—not the nicest place, you know?"

Cordelia waved off his concern. "Don't worry, Xander. I've got lots of friends in L.A. I've already made arrangements with Marci Thomas to stay with her, and she says she can get me a job, so I've got it made. Besides, having lived here all my life, I think I can handle whatever L.A. throws at me."

"True," Xander acknowledged. He gave the computer box a pat, then closed the door. "Well—keep in touch."

"Tell the Slayerettes it's been fun," Cordelia said. "How's Buffy? Still in the depths of despair?"

"She's dealing. I think Willow and a few pounds of Godiva got her through the worst of it."

"Good." Cordelia finished hanging up the garment bag, then shut the back driver's side door. "If there's one thing I don't need another second of, it's the Buffy/Angel saga."

Xander walked around to her side of the car. "If there's ever anything I can do . . ."

"I know." Impulsively, Cordelia drew him in for a quick hug. "Off I go to L.A. Try not to get eaten, okay?"

"Deal." Xander grinned and held the door for her while she got into her car. He shut it, and she drove away with a wave and a smile.

Two blocks away, Cordelia pulled into an alley, turned the car off, and burst into panicky, gasping sobs.

The Cordelia of now watched her, Angel by her side, holding her hand. "I had nothing," she said. "No friends in L.A., no place to stay, no idea of what I was going to do when I got there. I was so scared—more scared than I'd ever been. I'd sooner have taken on Angelus, Spike, and Drusilla all by myself than take that trip, but staying in Sunnydale seemed even worse, somehow."

"Your lowest point?" asked Angel, his voice sympathetic.

"Oh, yeah." Cordelia watched as Cordelia-of-then pulled herself together, fiercely wiped the tears away, and started driving again, heading resolutely out of town.

"Funny thing, the past," said Doyle, by their sides. "You can't do a thing about it. The present you've got some power over, and the future's not written yet, but the past is frozen. You can't change it, but it refuses to stay put. It puts its spin on everything that happens in your present. It wakes you up at night, screaming with fear." He looked at Cordelia. "That thing you saw yourself going through right here—that's _the_ fear. It's the fear Agragon uses against you. Now that you've seen it, you'll know where it's coming from. You overcame it before; you can overcome it with him."

The child's voice started singing again. This time, Cordelia could hear the words.

__

"Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart . . ."

Angel stiffened by her side.

__

"Naught be all else to me, save that thou art . . ."

Doyle looked at him seriously. "Are you ready?"

__

"Thou my best thought by day or by night . . ."

Angel looked back. "I'm ready. I'll face her."

__

"Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light."

The alley dissolved, diffusing into the misty light of a beach. It wasn't a California beach, all sunshine and sand. There was a high bluff off to one side, and the beach itself was very low and most likely disappeared down to half its size at high tide. The air was cool and salty. It was very lonely, but beautiful at the same time. The child's voice was humming now and sounded quite close. Cordelia followed Angel's gaze and saw her.

She was kneeling on the beach, making a sort of sand castle. She was, Cordelia thought, probably twelve or thirteen, in that gangly, pre-adolescent phase of life. Odd, old-fashioned clothes hung about her thin frame—a long, white shirt and what looked like a pair of boy's trousers. Her long, dark hair was pulled away from her face.

Lying opposite her was a young man, very tall and broad-shouldered. Cordelia couldn't see his face. He was wearing the same kind of clothing as the girl. His head was propped up on his hand as he watched her.

"The sand's not sticking together, Liam," the girl complained in a soft Irish brogue, not unlike Doyle's.

The young man chuckled. "It's not wet enough, Kathy. That won't be a problem when the tide comes in, though." There was something familiar about his voice, which was flavored with the same accent as the girl's. Then he shifted, pushing his long, dark, auburn-tinged hair away from his face.

It was Angel. But not Angel as Cordelia knew him.

"I was Liam back then," the Angel she knew said. "Just a boy."

"And she was . . ." Cordelia prompted gently.

"Kathleen. Kathy. My little sister." The pain in Angel's voice was almost a palpable thing.

Cordelia's gaze went back to the pair on the beach. Liam was smiling, helping his sister build her sand castle and teasing her gently. His smile wasn't the one Angelus used like a weapon, or even the shy smile Angel occasionally betrayed; it was a young man's smile, full of bright hope and sweet lies. He looked so young.

Kathy returned the smile, and Cordelia realized just how alike the two looked. Their eyes were the same shape, their hair the same color, and they had exactly the same smile. What was exotically handsome on Angel was delicate, otherworldly beauty on Kathy.

Angel wandered nearer the brother and sister. They took no notice of him.

"We had three other siblings at one time—Maura, Seamus, and Donal. I was the oldest and Kathy the youngest. One winter, a terrible fever swept through the town. The other three died. Kathy and I, though . . . we lived. I guess that from then on, I thought of Kathy as being _mine_, somehow. She recovered her strength more slowly than I did. I'd bring her sweets and read to her, and . . ." He trailed off, eyes closed. "I loved her. As deeply as I ever loved anyone, I loved her. And she loved me."

"What happened to her?" asked Cordelia, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"This beach was ours," Angel went on, ignoring the question. "I found it while wandering one day, and I brought her here. It was our secret. She'd put on some of my old clothes, and we'd take my horse and disappear all day. Father would be furious, of course." Angel laughed. "He always blamed me. Thought I was corrupting my sister's character. Mother was more practical. She'd blame me for corrupting Kathy's complexion. Wanted to raise a girl who'd attract a nobleman with an empty head and a full purse." He shook his head. "Kathy was too good for that. Too full of spirit.

"Sometimes, after I'd been out carousing at night, I'd use her bedroom window to get back into the house. It was easier to reach than mine—especially when I'd been drinking. Whenever I did that, I'd leave her sweets as a bribe, but really, she'd never have betrayed me. Never . . ."

Angel looked lost, and the scene changed. They were in a darkened bedroom now. Kathy lay asleep in the bed. A figure loomed outside her window, then climbed in. As he did so, Liam knocked something over. Kathy started awake.

"Liam!" she hissed. "Be quiet. Father will hear you."

Liam laughed softly and walked over to her bed. He gave her a bag, which she promptly dipped into, then sat down on the foot of her bed as she enjoyed her sweets.

"We were allies against our parents," Angel continued. Liam and Kathy were also talking, though Cordelia couldn't make out their conversation. "I wanted nothing more than to leave and take Kathy with me. In the end, though, I left alone."

Liam stood up, leaned over, and kissed his sister's forehead, whispering, "Sweet dreams, little Kathy." Then he left the room.

The scene changed. They were still in Kathy's bedroom, and it was night outside. She, however, was sitting, fully clothed, on her bed. In one hand she held a prayer book, and in the other, a rosary. Her face was pale and tearstained.

A figure loomed outside her window again and knocked at the pane. Puzzled, Kathy set aside her prayer book and rosary and went to the window. Her face suddenly lit up with joy, and she threw it open.

"Liam? Liam!" she cried.

Liam held a finger to his lips. "Shh. Quiet, little Kathy."

He didn't come in. Kathy reached out to him, and he took her hands. "Liam, you've come back to me," she said wonderingly.

He chuckled. "That I have, Kathy. Didn't I say I would?"

She shook her head as if in disbelief. "But Liam—they said you were dead. I prayed for your soul."

That was when Cordelia realized what was happening. "Oh, no," she breathed. "Please, no."

Angel's face was a mask of pain.

"I was dead, sweet Kathy," Liam told his sister. "Didn't stop me from returning to you, though."

Her face was bright. "Then you're an angel. You've come back to save us from the demon Father says is about."

Liam laughed. "An angel. Yes, you could say that."

Cordelia shuddered.

"Will you not come in, Liam?" Kathy asked.

"No, don't say it," whispered Cordelia.

"Are you inviting me in, sweet Kathy?"

__

No.

But Kathy laughed. "Yes, Liam. Come in!"

"Then I shall." Vampire Liam stepped into Kathy's room. She embraced him.

"You're so cold, Liam," she remarked.

"I'll be warm soon enough, dear sister. Now tell me—where's Father?"

"I think he's in the dining room. Shall I take you to him?"

"Not yet." Liam leaned down closer to his sister. "There's something I've got to tell you first, sweet. Look out your window."

Kathy obeyed, turning her back to her brother. Cordelia watched in horror as his features twisted into his vampiric countenance.

"What is it, Liam?" she asked, not seeing.

"Eternity," he breathed.

And he bit her.

The shock that went through Kathy's body was echoed by the one that went through Angel's. He and Cordelia watched helplessly as Liam drained Kathy, then lifted her lifeless body in his arms . . . and kissed her forehead.

"Let's go find Father," the newly-fledged vampire said maliciously, and he carried her from the room.

Angel moved over to the window. He leaned on the frame, body shaking with emotion. Cordelia and Doyle watched him, themselves shaken by what they'd just witnessed. For a long moment, all was silence.

"For almost two hundred and fifty years, every time I sleep, I've heard her singing," Angel finally said, voice ragged. "That hymn was her favorite. You could—you could hear her singing or humming it around our house almost constantly. Not one of my kills as a vampire ever haunted me when I was without my soul. Not one, but her." He turned to face his friends, stricken. "She was an innocent. She never knew, never understood, that her adored brother had betrayed her. That innocence grated on me . . . disturbed me like nothing else. After her, I never let another die without realizing what was happening. I couldn't leave innocence like hers alone when I found it. Drusilla, Buffy—I was obsessed with destroying that purity, in the hopes that she would just . . . stop . . . haunting . . . me."

"And now?" It was Cordelia.

"Now, all I can think is that I'm so grateful she never knew." Drained, Angel sagged against the window, face in his hands. "My dreams are always haunted by my crimes. If I had to look into her eyes at night and see betrayal—I don't think I could bear it." Dropping his hands, he looked at Doyle. "Can I speak to her?"

"You can't change the past," Doyle told him. "All you can do is come to terms with it. But let's see what we can do."

"Liam?" Kathy was sitting up in her bed, her dark hair falling out of her nightcap. "Are you here?"

Angel walked over and sat at the foot of her bed, the way Liam had. "I'm here, Kathy."

Her eyes were a little sad. "Why did it all happen, Liam?"

He shook his head. "No answer would be good enough. Maybe there isn't one."

She didn't seem confused by that, cryptic as it was. "Will you be coming home soon?"

"I'll try," he promised. "I love you, Kathy."

"I love you, too, Liam."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, gentle and long. "Sweet dreams, little Kathy."

She laid back in bed and slept, and Angel smoothed the blankets around her. Doyle, too, wandered over to the bed and picked something up off of it.

"Come on, Angel." The half-demon's voice was gentle. "We haven't much time."

Angel took one last look at his sister. He seemed steadier now. The room darkened until all they could see was each other, and then it was their old Los Angeles office again. Doyle took Cordelia's hand and set something inside it. Kathy's rosary.

"You'll need it," he said. "Time to move into the present."

And they were in Cordelia's apartment, in her bedroom. She and Angel saw their sleeping bodies laying on the bed. Wesley was pacing the room, looking like only the motion was keeping him upright. The ghostly figure of Dennis Pearson waved cheerfully at them, looking almost more solid than Wesley. Cordelia waved back.

"Sun's up soon," Angel realized.

"Yep. Time enough for what needs doing, though—if only just." Then they were on top of the apartment complex. Doyle pointed toward the south of town. "Come on. Let's go."

"Go? Where?" asked Cordelia.

Angel just chuckled, having figured out what Doyle meant. "Free your mind, Cordelia."

With that, he grabbed her hand, and the three went running for the edge and leapt. Rooftop to rooftop, heading toward the stylized cross logo of Providence Hospital. The city seemed eerily quiet to their dream-senses, but they saw things they never had before. Swirling eddies of spiritual forces, incorporeal creatures, benevolent, malign, and neutral, thoughts and dreams scattered to the four winds. On and on they flew, exhilarated by their dream abilities.

And finally, they were at the hospital. Doyle walked them through the halls to a room where a single woman laid in the bed. Her physical self lay in the bed, that was. Her dream-self stood by it, murmuring prayers in Spanish, terror and pain in her eyes. A shadowy claw was buried in the back of her head.

"Anita," Cordelia said, for it was the woman she'd seen in her vision.

"She'll take you from here." Doyle looked at his friends. "I'd love to stay and help, but this is as far as I can take you. She's got to show you where the demon lord is—but it won't be easy for her."

" 'Bye, Doyle," Cordelia said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

"Thanks, Doyle. For everything." Angel looked rock-solid now.

Doyle smiled at them. "Here's your final key: you've got everything you need between the two of you. If you hold onto each other and all you've been given here, there's no way you can lose."

And he was gone.


	6. Anita

Chapter 6: Anita

This time when their guide left, there was no sense of renewal for Angel and Cordelia like there had been before. The dreamwalk continued seamlessly.

"Manda tus angeles para que me protejan." The words were whispered softly by the tormented woman standing in front of Angel and Cordelia.

"She's asking God to send angels to protect her," Angel translated.

"God's getting help today." Cordelia stepped forward, addressing the woman. "Anita?"

Anita Martinez looked at them as if she hadn't seen them standing there before. "Wh-who are you?"

Angel stepped forward. "We've come to help you, Anita. You and all the others."

She blinked. "Are you an angel?"

"Not exactly. But I can help."

"We need you to show us where the demon is, Anita," put in Cordelia. "Can you do that?"

"N-no." Anita backed away fearfully. "I can't. If I do that, he'll punish me. He'll hurt me."

"And that's different from what's happening now how?" Cordelia's voice was gentle, with iron underneath. "Look, Anita, I know you're scared. But we were sent to you for a reason. You're strong enough to take us to him. You're the only one who can do that." The Seeress took Anita's hand and placed Kathy's rosary in it. "Help us stop him."

Anita looked from the rosary to Cordelia's face, then to Angel's. She pressed the crucifix to her heart. Finally, she was decided.

"I'll show you."

The walls of the hospital seemed to dissolve, and Anita turned and began leading Angel and Cordelia away from her unconscious body. The light dimmed, taking on a strange, unreal quality.

Then they were in a room, a cavernous, empty space much like the one they'd found themselves in at the beginning of the dreamwalk. As they looked, though, they realized the room wasn't empty. Shades of people in varying states of distress, all with shadowy claws buried in the backs of their heads, crowded the room. And at the center—

Angel and Cordelia got their first look at Agragon, and he was nothing. And everything. His form seemed to change shape every moment, growing, shrinking, billowing outward, then pulling back in. Cold, icy fear emanated from him. Angel pulled the battle-axe Buffy had given him from underneath his coat.

"Be careful," Cordelia whispered. Beside her, Anita gasped in fear and pain, dropping to her knees. Cordelia put an arm around the woman's shoulders as she began to pray again, holding the rosary.

As Angel approached Agragon, the demon lord solidified into a black-draped form. He produced a battle-axe not unlike the one Angel was wielding. The battle was joined.

Cordelia stood watching, her mind racing over what they'd gone through. She felt the fear the demon exuded, felt it trying to work its way into her heart and mind. It whispered of worries and pains, anxieties and embarrassments. She rebuffed them all. It was almost easy to do so—her biggest fears had been faced. She concentrated on the battle.

Angel was fighting, and he was beautiful to watch. His preternatural grace and strength was evident in every move. He was vamped out now, and Cordelia realized he was most likely experiencing the same fear-attack she was. But he would win, he had to . . .

But the demon lord was his match, move for move. They fought on and on. Each move Angel made was showing more effort now as he battled on against the demon lord's attack.

And then, so suddenly Cordelia didn't even have time to cry out, Agragon won. His axe ripped down, slicing across Angel's chest, and the vampire fell.

Dead.

"No," whispered Cordelia. Doyle had said they'd win. He said they had everything they needed, all the weapons, all the keys, everything. They couldn't lose.

Could they?

"It's all dreams in here. You can change most things. Remember that," said Oz.

That was the first key.

"Both of you have to face your greatest fears and regrets before you get to Agragon," said Angelus.

Second key.

"It's only together that you have the strength to face what is to come," said Spike.

Third key.

And Cordelia put them together.

"No," she repeated, quite calmly, and stood. "No, this isn't happening. This is _my_ dream, pal, and you and your shadowy little butt are not going to kill_ my best friend_!" The last words were shouted.

Angel was suddenly back on his feet and fighting again. In one moment, they had decided together that the dream was theirs. And in that moment, Agragon had lost. Angel's axe swished through the air, cutting deep into the demon lord's robes . . . and those robes crumpled to the ground, empty.

Something was shattering. The air itself seemed to be breaking up, starting where Agragon had been and going outward. It swept over the dreamers the demon held in his grasp, freeing them, and continued outward as the entire poisoned dreamscape was utterly destroyed. Cordelia ducked, protecting her eyes . . . 

And when she opened them again, she and Angel were back on Liam and Kathy's beach. It was over. Somewhere, Kathy was singing again, and the song was triumphant:

__

"High King of Heaven, my victory won,

May I reach Heaven's joys, bright Heaven's sun!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my vision, O Ruler of all!"

The song faded, leaving no regrets behind.

Angel helped Cordelia to her feet. "That was . . ."

". . . really interesting," Cordelia finished. "Did what I think happened happen?"

"You took possession," Angel surmised. "Agragon only had power as long as no one understood that they could take it from him. When you took control, you started to unravel his entire power structure, and I could defeat him." He looked at her and smiled. "You did it, Cordelia. You were the one."

"We did it," she corrected. She looked around. "So what now?"

Angel's attention was caught by something else, though. Sitting against a piece of driftwood not far away was Liam. Curled up against his side, warmed and protected by his arms, was Kathy, asleep. The young man was toying absently with a lock of her hair as he watched the sunset.

"Those are her memories, Angel, if she still has them," Cordelia said. "She had a big brother who loved her with all his soul. And he still does."

"Still," Angel murmured.

They watched as the sun set. Liam stood, scooping up Kathy as he did so. She muttered something, then rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her over to his waiting horse. He woke her enough to settle her on it, then mounted behind her, and brother and sister cantered off up the beach trail.

Angel reached out, taking Cordelia's hand. Then, almost as an afterthought, he drew her in and kissed her forehead gently.

She looked at him askance. "Are you being all scary creepy sensitive guy again?"

Angel laughed at that memory. "So. Where do we go now?" he asked.

"They seemed to know where they were going," Cordelia told him. "How about we follow?"

They walked in the direction Liam and Kathy had taken, ambling now, in no great hurry to get anywhere. Mist rolled in off the ocean and billowed around them, wrapping them in layers of soft brightness.

***

They awoke together, laying side by side on Cordelia's bed. For a moment, both were disoriented.

"Welcome back," said a faint, exhausted voice. Wesley stood at the foot of the bed, looking like he'd been through Hell himself. "I take it you two were successful?"

"We were," answered Angel. He propped himself on his elbow and reached over to brush a few strands of hair off Cordelia's face. "You all right?"

Cordelia blinked, looking a bit stunned. "Um, yeah, maybe . . . I think it's a yes. Ask me again in an hour."

Angel scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I know exactly how you feel." He lifted his left hand then, which he found was still fastened to hers.

"Allow me to help with that." Wesley sat on the bed and started to untie the knots that bound them.

"I don't think I want to do that again anytime soon," murmured Cordelia.

"I'll second that," concurred Angel with some feeling.

Wesley finished with the last knot and removed the scarlet cord. It took several minutes for Angel and Cordelia to force their hands apart, though.

"Ow. I think you broke my hand, Mr. Vampire-Strength."

"Well, you left fingernail tracks on mine. I don't think any of your bones are broken, though."

"There is an ick factor, though." Cordelia looked at the dried blood on her palm with great disgust. A moment later, curiosity filled her face. "Hey, there's no more cut on my hand."

"Fascinating," remarked Wesley, still sounding less-than-solid. "Perhaps vampire's blood has regenerative properties. Or perhaps it does only when mixed with live human blood. That would account for the process of becoming a vampire, actually. And, you know, vampire's blood is used for several healing rituals, particularly that of . . ."

Cordelia cut him off. "Wesley. You're babbling."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Ready to get up?" Angel asked her.

"I'm thinking breakfast." Cordelia looked at her hand again. "After a shower."

"I'll cook," volunteered Angel.

"Well, then," said Wesley, removing his glasses, "if you two are quite finished with the bed . . ."

Cordelia hopped off. "Oh, be my guest."

Angel, too, vacated the bed. Wesley promptly fell face-first into the pillows. His glasses were still in his hand, but they were quickly removed and set on Cordelia's nightstand by his unseen partner in the vigil—Dennis. Angel and Cordelia traded a grin over the ex-Watcher's inert body, and while Cordelia pulled an afghan over him, Angel snuffed the candles. After a moment's reflection, the vampire took the lighter and lit the candle for warding off evil dreams. Then they left the room.

"Sweet dreams, Wesley," said Cordelia as she turned off the light.

***

"It's weird. I don't know how much I remember of it." Cordelia ate another bite of her eggs. "It's almost like trying to remember a dream but not being sure how much was a dream and how much was reality. Did that make any kind of sense?"

Angel sipped at a mug of coffee. "I know what you mean. I remember our guides and some of what they said, and I remember the last fight. Other than that, it's kind of . . . a blur."

Cordelia thought on that, taking a drink of orange juice as she did so. "I remember Kathy."

A soft, regretful smile creased Angel's features. "I'm glad. Her memory shouldn't be mind alone." He played with his coffee mug. "I like to think that had she grown up, she'd have been something like you."

"Well, if she had been like me, she wouldn't have wanted you to be all Broody-Boy forever." Cordelia raised her eyebrows, looking pointedly at the vampire. "Like Doyle said, you can't change the past."

"No, you can't," Angel agreed. "Besides, as much as it hurts sometimes, I wouldn't give up my memory of her for the world. She was the best part of me back then."

Cordelia decided to change the subject. "Wonder how Anita's doing?"

"Good question. Maybe we should drop by the hospital."

"Yeah. We could say something like, 'Hi, Anita. Remember us? You led us to a demon while you were dreaming. Oh, and you thought he was an angel. There's irony there.'"

Angel gave her a baleful look. "Point taken. At the very least, you might want to get in touch with your nurse friend at City General and see if the sleepers have awakened."

"I could do that." Cordelia finished her eggs. "You know, I do kinda wish we could do something for Anita. She was the reason we got involved, after all."

Angel was silent for a moment. Then he grinned. "You know, there may be something . . ."

***

Anita Martinez was glad to be home. Two days ago, she'd awakened in the hospital with little memory of what had happened. The doctors had subjected her to a battery of tests, physical and psychological, then had finally given up and sent her home when they could find nothing wrong except a little lingering weakness.

She puzzled over what memories she did have. Fear, pain, and a sense of a terrible evil, but nothing solid. One other thing surfaced, though: a man and a woman, both of them beautiful and strong. During her first night home, she'd been a little afraid to go to sleep, but the memory of the two of them had been a strange comfort, although she had no idea of who or what they were.

"Anita!" Her roommate, Ellen, was calling. "There's a package for you."

"Coming." Anita made her way into the living room, where she accepted a small box from Ellen. "Hm. That's strange. No return address."

"What is it?" Ellen asked.

Carefully, Anita unwrapped the brown paper, then opened the box. "It's a candle," she said, puzzled, and lifted it from the box. The candle was speckled blue and gray and had a pleasant, herbal scent.

"That a card?" Ellen indicated a folded-over piece of art paper tied to the candle with a hemp strand. "Who's it from?"

Anita shook her head as she read the card. "It doesn't say. It just says, 'Burn the candle for sweet dreams, and thanks for the prayers.' Then there's a little sketch of an angel."

Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Must be somebody from Church."

"Guess so." Anita smelled the candle again and found it soothing. She shrugged and carried it to her bedroom. Sweet dreams were always welcome.

***

Yes, that's really the end. Thanks for sticking with the story. If you liked it, please let me know. If you didn't—why the heck did you read all six chapters? A few notes, which you may or may not want to read:

Note 1: Kathy's song is "Be Thou My Vision," an Irish hymn dating from the 8th century. For an absolutely beautiful rendition, find the 4Him album "Hymns: A Place of Worship."

Note 2: Thanks to Tuna for the Spanish translation.

Note 3: Thanks to Tanja for the idea that Liam used his sister's window to enter the house.


End file.
